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Its a marathon, not a sprint.

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Today is 5 months to the day from my accident resulting in a shattered ankle.  Five months can seem like a lifetime or it can pass in the blink of an eye. I feel like this past 5 months has simultaneously been both for me.  What do I have to show for these last five months?

I’m not regularly using any kind of bracing on my ankle these days. I often have kinesio tape wrapped around it like the worlds most expensive and unwanted burrito. I will sometimes use a compression sleeve if I’m having a particularly swollen kind of day: burrito gordito. I own the most expensive ugly shoes imaginable and inside of them are more crazy $$ orthotics to help support my poor foot in ways it can’t support itself. Basically, I’ve spent ridiculous amounts of money to wear terribly ugly footwear. I had a shoe saleswomen tell me, “People should be looking at the smile on your face, not the shoes on your feet anyway!” I kicked her. No, I didn’t, I broke my good kicking leg. I punched her. No, no I didn’t do that either. However, didn’t buy a new pair of ugly orthotic $150 shoes from her either.

All my life I’ve heard people say that a sprain is worse than a break.  I always assumed those were dumb people. I mean, a broken bone is the worst, right? My breaks were complicated, out of place, shatters and you know what? They are healed. Yes, there is a lot of metal holding them together, but fortunately I’m still young enough to have strong bones and they have grown back together and are finer than frog fur! So, why then am I still in so much pain and still doing so much therapy to learn to walk without a limp? Oh, that would be because of all the strained, sprained, and torn soft tissue in the foot and ankle from my grotesque dislocation. (How do you know a “grotesque’ dislocation? When the paramedics make comments as such and ponder how to splint a foot that’s pointing the wrong direction and kind of dangling off of the leg.) I completely hosed the ligaments and tendons responsible for holding my foot in place and allowing for proper movement of the ankle and they are slower to heal that molasses is to flow on a cold day.

Here’s the good news and celebratory update: When I’m rested, moving slowly and really thinking about it… I CAN walk without a limp. So we know it is possible. That is truly a wonderful blessing. I was warned early on that it might not be a possibility for me. However, I’m still working up to the strength and mobility to be able to have a normal walking gait naturally.  I suspect that this will be a few more months. But I’m finally starting to believe that it really will happen. In the meantime, when I get tired I wobble and hobble along like a drunken peg-legged pirate. Ahoy, matey, soon I’ll be walkin’ like a real landlubber, but fer today I be a three sheets to the wind seadog.

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~~Delaney …the drunken pirate

Just say thank you.

This is my left ankle. It’s part God-given and partly from the hardware store. It’s all mine, for better or worse.  I had this X-ray taken today at my 6 week post-op appointment and I was given the good news that healing is progressing  well. I can now start physical therapy and start weight bearing on that foot again slowly. I also realized I was wrong. I have one more screw in the outside of my ankle than I had originally thought. I actually have 6 on the outside and two on the inside. Eight screws. That’s badass! 

After six weeks of being helpless I’m ready to live like an adult again, and just in time because my month of calendar-scheduled meals and caretakers is coming to an end. This calendar, that I initially turned down, has been our life support.  

When I was in the hospital both of my pastors came to see me to share comfort and wisdom. My Pastor Amy bluntly asked me how I was going to ask for and accept help. I will forever remember what she told me, (and I loosely quote in my own words) “Hospitality is a two way street. There has to be a receiver in order for there to be a giver. You’ve been allowed to be a giver many times, now give others the same opportunity.” Then, she took it up a notch and asked for specifics about to whom I would turn for help.  I said I would let my friend, Boni, put together the care calendar as she’d offered. To my horror, after Pastor Amy prayed with me and started to head out she said, “I’m texting Boni later to make sure she’s heard from you.” This forced me to accept the offer, no matter how uncomfortable. 

As physically painful as this injury has been, accepting help has been almost as painful emotionally.  I needed so much help for so long.  Every time I was given an offer, or someone signed up through the calendar, I had the urge to thank them and turn them down. Each time I just remembered my pastor’s words reminding me of my job; to be a receiver so others could give. 

I think the hardest lesson is yet to come: Learning to ask for help.  During the last 6 weeks the offers of meals, household help, and companionship have been handed to me. I only had to say, “yes” and “Thank you.” However, at no time did I have to seek it out.  But I think my day is fast approaching. Now I’m becoming independent. I’ll be able to walk and drive, no longer a home-bound lump.  But this is where I’ll try to do it all and exhaust myself. This is where I’ll push myself and have a setback day and I’ll need an ear and shoulder. This is when I’ll have to actually ask for help.

I’m so Thankful to my Pastor for giving me the wisdom that is allowing me to accept help. In a way, it’s the same grace extended by God. God offers up unconditional love and forgiveness and we just have to accept it. The next step is learning to ask God, through prayer, for help and forgiveness.  It turns out these earthly lessons have eternal meaning. 

There are two take away lessons that I can share. The first is that when you are offered help: Take it and just say thank you. The second is that when you know someone needs help just offer it, don’t wait for them to ask. 

There will be a third lesson about asking for help. Probably when I decide I can buy a full cart of groceries and then realize I can’t get them into the house alone. Or when I get sick of the stench and throw the dogs in the tub, not thinking through 65 combined pounds of soggy-doggy-mess. In the meantime I’m rejoicing in my progress, feeling thankful for the help we’ve been given, and looking forward to grossing out many more friends by making them feel the outline of my steel plate in my ankle. No really, you can feel it… isn’t that cool? 

~~Delaney 

Do unicorns have ankles?

Today is a big day! This is one month to the day since I demolished my ankle. It is also four weeks to the day since my surgery. And what progress do I have to brag about on this big milestone? Nothing! My healing is in a holding pattern. It’s like trying to watch a video on your phone and being stuck in endless buffering. Maybe a few seconds run, getting your hopes up and then back to the flashing swirly circle of eternal streaming purgatory.

I went to my general practitioner yesterday to lament about my frustration and lack of progress. My complaints: blood pressure drops, nausea, not regaining strength or stamina, and pain.

Let me say how much I love my doctor and how much I love honesty. So when she looked me in the eye and said, “You didn’t just break your ankle. Your surgeon told me how extensive the damage was. Honestly, we rarely see patients get an injury like this.” (My rough quoting) This was not upsetting, but confirming and comforting.

I’m a mom. I do all the household mom stuff and it is really hard to see it go undone. I also troll google daily and read stories of people with broken ankles and feet. By one month post surgery these people are up and around, maybe limping in a boot or using a knee scooter, and pushing on with their lives. Here I am still spending most days in bed or on the couch. I’ve been feeling down, wondering if I’m just weak. Am I ‘milking’ this? Why am I not  getting on with my life? So I’ve been pushing myself to do more and get up more and in return I feel worse and worse.

I needed to hear my doctor tell me that my injury is in a category of its own and so my recovery will be on a different timeline. I needed to be told to not push myself and that my body is still in the acute phase of healing.  I might have the mind of a badass superhero but right now my body is a delicate, and wilted, daisy. 

It turns out my electrolytes are all out of whack so I will now be sucking down Gatorade and broth all day.  I stopped all pain meds two weeks ago because they make me feel sick, little did I know that constant pain also has negative consequences for the body.  I’m trying a new scheduled pain management. I have learned that I’m the opposite of a drug seeker as I beg and plead with my doctors NOT to give me narcotics! 

One of the best healers, way better than narcotics, has been the love and support of friends and family.  One of the stranger parts of this experience is how little I knew what was going on around me when I was in the hospital. Geoff only recently told me how many of my friends texted and called him with offers of help and asking to come to hospital. One of those sweet friends and I were so happy to see each other once I was out of the hospital and this was our text exchange:


I love that she so quickly validated my (very real) concern and readily agreed that I might be filled with magic unicorn dust. Maybe that’s why, in the words of another friend, I got a unicorn of an ankle injury- one rarely seen! Fitting given my obsession with one-horned-equines. I guess I have to just remember that I’m not your average horse and I won’t heal like one. I’m a unicorn and I have to slow down and let my healing take the winding magical rainbow path. 

For now I take it slow and trust that my body is doing what it needs to do. And the next time I see my surgeon I’m asking if he was shocked to open me up and find that I’m filled with rainbow glitter! 

~~Delaney 

Please be kind 2017

Today is January 1, 2017 and I’ve already had two very good crying spells. Not the way to start a new year, in my opinion. Almost exactly two weeks ago I slipped on our stairs and broke my ankle. Now, when I say ‘broke’ I’m not referring to a fracture.  I mean broken. Shattered. I’ll never forget looking down and seeing my foot dangling off 90 degrees to the side of my leg and grotesquely deformed from displaced bones and swelling. I can’t get the image out of my head. Neither can my family, they all watched it happen.  My 15 year old called 911. This was 6 days before Christmas. 

I guess I’m pretty lucky that it took 42 years before I suffered a traumatic injury. Oh I’ve felt pain before. I’ve birthed two children and had two hip surgeries. Let me say none of those remotely compared to the pain of this injury.  It was a struggle to remain conscious through the pain. Even the maximum dose of morphine would only buy me a groggy hour before I’d wake crying again.  

Even splinted, any time I had to be moved I could feel the bones shifting inside of me and the searing pain made me scream involuntarily. I feel so bad for my poor family and one dear friend who had to witness any of it. 

I try to be a stoic person.  I’ve experienced some very difficult things in my life and I try to face situations with as much grace as I can.  But there I was, crying out in agony with three people trying to lift/position me every time I had to use the commode. It’s a level of vulnerability I’d never imagined. 

I’d suffered what is called a trimalleolar ankle fracture with dislocation. It’s basically the worst case scenario of ankle injuries. Three of the supporting ankle bones were snapped and my foot was left dangling like a tennis ball in a tube sock.  To save my foot, the ER doctor reduced the dislocation (under sedation) almost immediately.  Unfortunately there were snafus and setbacks that meant surgery wouldn’t happen for another three days. 

I was released from the hospital on Christmas Day and came home a house full of family and merriment, very little of which I actually remember.  The week after Christmas was a blur of charting medications, sleep, and visits from friends. 

How do I launch into the excitement of a new year when I can hardly leave my bed? My blood pressure still drops when I try to stand, so a wheelchair is necessary. I can’t cook, clean, drive, or care for my family and dogs. 

Now I learn the hardest lesson yet: helplessness and accepting help.  Now I learn to let my family take care of me for a change. I learn to let my house be in disarray. I learn to say ‘yes’ when someone offers assistance, because if I say no it might mean I lay in bed hungry and holding my pee until the next offer comes along. 

I’m learning that everyday brings healing and progress, no matter how slow. 

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